Story of the Scarred, Lost, and Refused
by Lucretia-Caseyandra
Summary: He's tailored for Damon by formula. Her own formula. She never wanted him all she wanted was freedom. But her escape route is hindered by him & his want for Max. To get what she wants, she's got to make herself fall for him, now he must fall too. NO Mylan
1. Preview

**a/n: this is written by Lucretia, but C will most likely assist later on. If you haven't guessed "he' is Dylan and as for "she" well, you'll just have to wait and see won't you?**

She was sarcastic, she was snarky. She was tough, uncontrollable. But anyone who ever knew her would swear she brighten a room with her entrance. She was funny, kind- hearted, but latently. He knew this, better than anyone else. He was convinced beyond doubt.

He was her brother, in spirit. They had always depended on each other. Well, he had always depended on her, that is. She was his leader, a tyrant, a mother. She was the filter between his brain and his mouth that someone had forgotten to program in. He could not live without her, no matter what_ they_ had made him believe. But he was oblivious.

She fell for him. Hard. That immature, stupid, clueless _boy_ who had been programmed to be a man; he was far from a man. The idea was even laughable. He had been made for Max, or so they had thought. _They_ were wrong. She had ensured that they would be. He had been tailored for her by formula. Her formula. She stopped him from being Max's missing puzzle piece. She kept him from ruining the flock. He would be her ruin instead. Why?

Because she would die for that incompetent, would- be homewrecker. But even the idea that this is so terrified her.

_They _hadn't figured this out. _Any_ of it.

He hadn't turned out right, either. She knew this, they did. He didn't. He wasn't supposed to be so sickly, sugary, goody- goody. He was supposed to what she was, but obedient. But, even had he been, even had he been set for Max, it was too late.. Maximum Ride already found her other half, in _her_ twin brother.

Something had to be done, she knew this. She knew what as well and how, but she stalled. And she couldn't any longer. Dylan must stop chasing Max.

She would _make_ him grow up.

She would get her revenge on him for making her fall for him.

She could do them both, in one move:

Damon would make him fall for _her._

**a/n:sorry it's so short. But hey, it's a preview! Let me know what you think. But, I am really busy right now so any update will be farther in the future, like a couple weeks. Please RnR and tell me if I should continue! Thanks!**


	2. Meet Damon

**Sorry, but FWI this takes place at he beginning of the sixth book when the flock is in Africa, in Dr. Hans's tent!**

Damon bit her lip, holding back tears as her skin healed itself partially encasing the metal cuffs around her wrists instantly. They were slowly becoming more and more covered by her skin, nearly impossible to remove. God, how did this happen? And why just her? They treated him like a spoiled child. He got everything he ever wanted and rarely knew pain. It was just her.

She sighed, but quickly cut herself short. In the other room Dr. Hans was talking to someone. The "flock", it must be. Trying to convince them to join him in his "awe-inspiring" saving-the-world plan. She really couldn't believe he still thought it would work. The whole thing was one big equation, which he solved himself. Hans made her solve it and check his math after he and his team of mathmeticians were finished. And Damon truly discovered why Dr. Hans didn't chase a career in physics, there were mistakes everywhere. But had he believe it would matter, please, the man had laughed in her face. Why did he even bother having her check it in the first place?

Damon had to get out there. Hans wouldn't dare hurt her in front of them; the bird-kids would never trust him then. This had to be her last chance, there was no way he was just going to let her out for a fly or anything. Damon bit back a moan. At the mention of flying, her wings' throbbing became more prominent. They had been bound to her back with a thick leather strap for so long. She needed to _fly. _All that could possibly stop her, were a few flimsy sheets of fabric that made up the tent walls.

Dr. Hans had gotten her soon after birth and done his own testing on her, but similarly to the experiments done at the School. Damon was 3% bird, in hopes she would be 'better' than should she only had 2% bird DNA. Pretty much all it had done was make her more dependent on her wings for balance which, by the way, were absolutely huge. While the School's experiments' wingspan never exceeded 15 feet, her wings were a baffling 21 feet across. This caused her to be able to take off without doing anymore then jump. She gained altitude quickly and flew faster with much less effort. She could probably have accelerated faster than she already could, but more genetic modifying had been done to make he look more 'normal', coniquentaly making her less arrowdinamic and heavier. She stood at 5'9" and wasn't going to get any taller. She wasn't as skinny as the others, with a more natural looking, athletic build. She was a genius, her IQ well over 200 and Hans had her check most of the work he did. Her skin and limbs could regenerate as well. Damon still shuddered at the thought of all the needled that had ensured it.

But she did have some flaws, according to the whitecoats. Her balance issues caused her wings to be slightly extended most of the time to stay upright. If she could have her wings out, she could be very prone to tripping. Also, being the first test subject on which the regeneration technology had been applied, it hadn't turned out quite right. There was always some damage left behind by the slashes they had administered to her. Authority problems, too. Only rarely did she ever complete direct orders, even if it meant pain.

That's how she got here, scars covering her body. One particularly obvious one slashed across her right eye, where the vision had been fuzzy ever since. Dried blood was matted in her waist-length, black-as-midnight hair. It often smeared over her clothes and her purple and black skin, thick with bruises. She was too bony, she'd lost weight and a lot of muscle tone in her time in captivity. Her once glowing olive skin was sallow and ghastly. The obsidian eyes had become accented by the dark bruises that came from sleepless nights. And of course the cuffs that were burrowed deep into her flesh. Made of tough metal, the thick chains connected to them Damon to snapped, after weeks of wearing at the metalwith watever she could reach. But with each time she tore at the chains, the cuffs tore at her wrists, therefore slowly becoming part of her as her body tried to heal itself. But now, none of that mattered. Pain was just a message, but her freedom, _so close, _was very_ real._

Damon's hands began to tremble with excitement, the few loops of chains still attached to the cuffs clanking, so she took a deep breath and quieted the clamor. Another deep breath and she looked around herself impulsively. A glimmer caught her eye. A knife. Yes, the "world recognized geniuses" left a knife out where their resentful, revenge-seeking experiment could get to it. Brilliant; that was just amazing usage of thought process on their part. Genius was definintely involved in that situation.

Damon's mind started to spin with calculations, her mouth forming the numbers on her lips as she went. Silently, she crept forward and snatched the knife from the floor of the palace/ tent. After turning it a few times in her hands and a few minor modifications to the formula in her mind's eye, she angled the blade carefully over the place on her right cuff where the metal met at the clasp. She hesitated, then lowered her right hand, balling up the front of her shirt which she clamped down on with her teeth. The shirt being secure in her mouth, she repositioned the blade. Another deep breath, to stop the trembling in her hands, then slashed the knife down, jamming down into the crease of the metal. Damon bit hard on the shirt, automatically deepening her breaths to prevent too much shallowing and loudening of her quiet breaths. She turned back to her work, jiggling the blade expertly in the steel cuff, then jerking it out again. Not pausing for her body to catch up with the pain, she turned the knife around, and hit the edge of the cuff with the but of her knife's handle. The cuff opened and Damon yanked it out of her flesh, just barely holding back the scream as tears flowed down her face, streaking it with clean lines of skin. She pulled on her own hair as her skin reknit itself together painfully, trying to force her gasping breaths into silence.

Her skin healed completely, with a milieu of new scars, and she reluctantly turned to her other hand. After repeating the process on her left wrist, she had succeeded in pulling some of her blood matted hair out (it grew back instantly) and creating a sizable puddle of blood on the ground. But it was over with and Damon commanded her body's composure. Once calm, she swiveled her wrists, grinning as the stiffness worked itself out of her long neglected joints.

_Now all I need is to do this with my wings..._ Damon thought, envious of the feeling in her wrists, wishing she could make it go into her back.

She sighed and got back to work. She scraped, more like ripped, her hair into three sections and braided it down her back to her waist, leaving only her jagged cut bangs out, which fell across her scarred eye. Glancing down at her clothes, she sighed, there wasn't much she could do about them. Luckily, these clothes were given to her fairly recently (her last pair had been practically in shreds). Damon dusted off her black cargo pants and straightened out her tank top where she had bitten on it the best she could, then stood tall. She relaxed her body, taking on a cocky grin and whispered to herself sardonically:

"Show time, girl, and let the games begin."

She glanced toward the entrance to the main rooms and loosened up her tensed body once again. _Well, here goes nothing... or maybe my life..._

**a/n: Ugh! not really happy with this, but I wrote in a hurry. Exams are coming up *NOOOOOOOOOOO!*, so updates will be erratic. So sorry! But please tell me what you think: too short, not enough plot, too emo? Please RnR! I really appreciate your feedback! Thank You! Wish me luck on exams, I'll need it :(**


	3. Phase 1: Complete

"Show time, girl, and let the games begin," Damon whispered in mock drama. Shaking her head at herself and rotating her wrists more, she moved closer to the flap to the main room. But before she reached the flap she stopped, taking a deep breath, and watched as her body faded into the background, invisible. She then moved her left eye to the slit between the curtains that hung in the doorway and looked closely.

Dr. Hans sat with his back to her, the fluffy-haired little mind reader, "Angel", sat half facing the curtain she was behind. Max and _him_ sat on leather stools facing Damon. All of a sudden, Max, looking slightly horror-struck began choking on something- scones, maybe? Damon used the distraction to slip into the room. She quickly moved over to the wall of the tent closest to the flap she'd entered from, reversing quietly until the material brushed her back. No one had noticed; the curtains had even settled before anyone moved to sit straight again. Damon watched the scene in front of her curiously.

"Here, drink this," said Angel, giving Max a glass of something.

"Can you breathe?" Dr. G-H asked, concerned that one of the "successful experiments" might be rendered imperfect. "Do you need the Heimlich maneuver?"

"Heimlich me and die," coughed out Max. Damon grinned, satisfied with Max's attitude towards G-H. But then she turned to look at Dylan and had to bit her tongue to keep from scoffing aloud at the sight.

Mr. Perfect sat, gaping cluelessly at Max, as he watches her stifle her coughs. _Stupid boy, you don't just sit there, _do_ something!_ thought Damon exasperatedly. Hans should never let him around any life or death situations, or even in public for that matter. At least, not without her there to help him. He'd never do anything except for sit there and gawk at everything. Damon had to stifle her laughing again as she imagined Dylan in the middle of a big city, just staring open-mouthed at everything, but not sure how to cross the street. Cruel, yes, but still, come on, pretty funny. Yeah, he should never be allowed out of this tent; that would be embarrassing.

"Are you okay?" Dylan asked still horrified. Exhibit A.

Max nodded as answer to the obvious question. Then she tensed as if she was about to stand, shifted a little, like she was startled, then settled back down. _That was a little strange..._

Fluffy (Angel) decided to speak up then, while putting some scrambled eggs on a plate. "Well, if your only eight months old, it'll take you a while to learn stuff."

_Oh, gosh! Where has good,_ interesting_ conversation gone_, Damon thought, only half sarcastic. She sighed, then stepped out of the shadows, visible again and said, "Well, you know Fluff- well, 'Angel', I am kind of shocked you didn't figure out I was here sooner. I mean, yes, you have been having a very... stimulating conversation, but still, don't mind readers 'know all'?" Condescending. Careless.

The whole room turned to gape at her, Angel looked slightly offended as well. Max looked her up and down, observing all of the scars and how haggard she seemed. Seeming to decide Damon was a possible threat, she began to tense defensively as G-H stumbled for an explanation.

"Damon!" He exclaimed bewilderedly, a fake smile painted on his face. "I, uh, well... when did you get back?"

"I never left," Damon said monotonously, no emotion showing on her face.

"Really?" he said, with false surprise on his face. "If I'd known you were here I would have-"

"How long have you been in here?" Angel asked suspiciously, cutting him off. But she sounded nervous too.

"Long enough." Damon said shortly, dismissing Angel and turning back to the conversation before. "Well, I'm here now, so get on with it."

"Actually, I suppose introductions are in order," Dr. said, still edgy. "Max, Angel, this is one of my most successful experiments, along with Dylan of course. Meet Damon, her development was quite similar to your own, but different in some ways. The contrast between the two sub-breeds you represent is really quite fascinating."

Both Damon and Max clenched their teeth at that. "Why yes, my life is quite fascinating. Maybe I'll write a book about it... nah, it would be too much effort. I'll just issue a public statement. Here, how's this," Damon took a moment to pretend to prepare herself. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Dr. Hans. Next she said, no longer dramatic, just annoyed, "It sucked."

"Damon..." G-H said warningly. Damon was going to have to go along with the "I'm-a-friendly-doctor-and-I'm-just-so-nice-please-join-my-totally-not-evil-scheme-to-end-life-as-we-know-it" act if she was going to get her plan to work.

So, instead of the many things she'd like to say, she went with: "Oh come on! The only people I've ever really had anything to do with were a whole lot older or younger than me and men. Those two features combined makes my last interesting conversation... never?"

"I didn't know that you thought it was so awful to talk, to me..." Dylan said quietly, sounding hurt. _Gosh, is he he ever going to stop this crap!_, Damon thought angrily. _You can't make everyone (anyone) happy, just take the insult and act the age you look! ...And stop making such a scene, we're not in a soap opera!_

Damon sighed. "Didn't mean you, Dyl. I was making a generalization." she said patronizingly and still somewhat sarcastic.

Dylan, not catching the derision in her tone, smiled again and nodded enthusiastically to show he understood. Damon barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. _God, can't I just rip more metal out of my arms? It'd be better than this._

Angel had a confused/suspicious look on her face. "Dr. Hans, what did you mean when you said that Damon was similar to us, but not exactly? And sub-breeds?"

G-H smiled. "Ah, of course. You see, there were two different groups doing this kind of experimentation: one was the branch you and Max were created in" Damon noticed that both girls flinched slightly at the mention of the School and Max's face sunk into a scowl. "and then there was a branch which I led. While the first group experimented widely, my research was restricted to a sole type- that of human-avian combinations. My specialization in this on area has caused the species I create to differ somewhat from the other 'original' experiments."

"How so?" Max asked cautiously. She looked slightly irate at the reference to their "development", seeming to hate the reminder of the fact that she was created as an experiment.

Damon caught Dr. Hans's eye and he nodded, but barely. He resented this, but saw no way around letting her loose. He shifted in his seat, discreetly pressing a button on a small remote. She took in a deep breath as the leather around her wings loosened painfully. Then she shot out her wings before either flock members could realize what happened. The strap clattered to the ground, but no one even noticed. All eyes were drawn to her wings as she rolled her shoulders, feathers quivering in relish and pain. G-H and Dylan even stopped to stare, though this sight was mundane for them.

Damon's wings brushed the sides of the tent, extended to their full, breathtaking 21 feet. They were midnight, but splotched with brown and red, similar to her hair, but more vibrant. Her wings looked caked with blood, dry and fresh, while the black feathers shimmered like they were under firelight. She looked, most literally, like Hell.

As everyone stared at her, captivated, Damon smiled internally. This would be easier than she had thought. She stood before them- totally unforgettable. If Hans wanted to introduce Dylan into the Flock without her, questions would be asked, suspicions would be aroused. If they were to simply kill her now, all hope of Max's trust would be lost. They couldn't even pawn it off as an accident; Max wasn't stupid and she'd never believe that. G-H would be forced to put her in the Flock ,too, if he brought Dylan to them. Damon had woven herself into the Apocalypse "master plan" simply by being in this tent, standing before two of the Flock members. Now she could change everything.

She knew it was true.

_They_ did now, too. But it didn't even matter by this point, there was nothing they could do about it.

* * *

**a/n: Oooooh! spooky...ish... Whatever. This was so much harder than I thought! Have you ever tried to weave a brand new character into an already written story? Don't try. It takes forever! It was so easy in my head, though, I feel like it shouldn't have been this hard! Maybe it's just me... Oh well! I know it was mean to Dylan, but Damon doesn't like him at first. Come on! he was given everything and told he was 'perfect'. Of course she's going to hate him now! For those who are curious, yes Damon and Dylan do end up together in the end. Eeek! I guess... Thank you guys for reading, but I really want to start hearing more feedback from you. Yeah, I know I hate it when authors spew this crap too, but it's true! I really want to know what you think and that you read it, not just that you may have accidently clicked on the story title and hit the back button the moment the page loaded! please review. No, I won't keep chapters from you if you don't but please do. Thanks again and I'll update as soon as I can.**

**P.S.: Thank you for wishing me luck on exams! it means a lot to know that complete strangers care about my grades. They went fine for those who may actually care, but we had a snow day, so I still have to take 2 of them after winter break IT SUCKS! But thanks for the support and if you are in school, I hope you do/did well on your exams/finals! Good luck (if this applies...)!**


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